The Russian Punk and The Russian Pixie
by WinterFairy209
Summary: Irina Lebedeva, known as the "Russian Pixie" for her trademark light and graceful style, needs a bit of help to top the podium for her final junior year. Enter Yuri Plisetsky, skilled skater and rinkmate. Irina offers him a deal he can't refuse; a personal teacher on all things Lilia Baranovskaya, her former ballet teacher and Yuri's current bane. But how will this deal play out?
1. Prolouge

**_Author's Note: Yay! Yuri on Ice is a thing! (I couldn't think of anything else to say) And this is just a prologue, not an official first chapter_**

 ** _Disclaimer_** ** _: I own nothing (except the Lebedeves. And Polina and Ulyana, I guess)_**

* * *

It all started one day, when she was six.

"Have you heard?" Polina whispered during warm-ups. "The Russian National Figure Skating Championships are being held tonight."

"How do you know?" Ulyana responded as she stretched her leg.

"My brother is having his junior debut," Polina stated proudly. "Mother says he is magnificent."

"You think he will win?"

"When was the last time my brother won at anything?" Both girls laughed, which prompted Irina to speak up.

"Figure skating? That is taking place tonight?" Both girls nodded.

"I want to watch," Irina murmured under her breath, her short dirty blonde ringlets framing her face.

"Miss Lebedeva!" Ms. Baranovskaya's harsh call struck through the air like a knife. "How many time must I tell you? Tie up your hair!"

"Yes, Ms. Baranovskaya." Irina attempted to tie her hair with a hair tie, until Ms. Baranovskaya took over, pulling harshly as she reprimanded Irina. Soon, warm-ups ended and the real practice started.

* * *

"Mommy, look at them." Irina was awed as she stared at the TV. "They are just like little ballerinas."

One skater on the TV leaped and spun mid-air, landing flawlessly on the ground to cheers.

"Yes, I suppose they are." The scrape of silverware rung out as her mother scooped the remnants of that night's smoked salmon into the garbage.

"They are just like… _me_."

Her mother chuckled, a soft, but hearty sound. "Not quite, my little one, but soon, you will be a full-fledged ballerina."

"Not quite," Irina murmured, her finger tracing the outline of the "little ballerina". "Not quite…"

"Irina?" Her mother spoke, as Irina was still staring at the TV, and her little head seemed to have gears working in it.

"Mommy," Irina turned away from the screen, breathless. "I want to be like the ice ballerinas."

Her mother was startled. "But you are already training as a ballerina!"

"Can I not do both?"

Maybe it was the hopeful glint in her daughter's eye, or how amazed she looked at the figure skaters, that made Yuliya Lebedeva consider it. "Well...many skaters _do_ have backgrounds in ballet…"

"Can I, mommy? _Please_?" Irina begged.

" _Maybe_ ," Her mother clarified. "But if you do-" Irina gave out a little gasp. "-Then you must work hard at _both_. No slacking, no angering Ms. Baranovskaya or your coach, no playing in the mud-"

"Yes! Yes!" Irina bounced up and down. "Yes, mommy! I'd do all of that!"

"Then we can _think_ about it," Her mother said. " _And_ continue this conversation when your father gets home."

Irina nodded, but she was long gone, dreaming of snowflakes, tutus and twirls on ice.


	2. Chapter 1

**_Author's Note: Thank you for the favs and follows! And special thanks to Guest and Helen Teng for reviewing! And thank you for reminding me to put character tags on, Guest! Nearly forgot!_**

 ** _Disclaimer: I do not own Yuri On Ice or any recognizable characters._**

* * *

14 year-old Irina Lebedeva entered her house and closed the door behind her. Her dirty blonde hair was pulled into a bun, and her baby blue eyes sparkled with relief now that she could relax, if only slightly. Her petite frame was illuminated by the faint light provided by the only uncovered window. She was wearing a cherry red long-sleeved shirt, a pink winter vest and black pants. "Hello? Mother? Father? Is anybody home?"

Flicking the lights on, Irina was greeted by a hearty, "SURPRISE!"

Irina let out a squeak of terror before recognizing the people before her and letting out a sigh of relief. "You guys scared me!"

"With our dazzling performance?" Anastasia Orlova smiled jokingly, stepping out from the bundle of people. Anastasia was a rink-mate and a close friend of Irina. She was short with pale skin and long, thick black hair.

Irina giggled. "Yes, maybe a bit of that too." She dropped her duffel bag near the door and made her way through the cluster of people, greeting friends and family alike, before stopping at the dining table and gasping. "You guys bought a cake? For me?"

"Duh," Anastasia said, dropping into a chair. "I mean, we're celebrating a pretty big event."

"Don't tell me you've forgotten," Irina's cousin, Marta, grumbled. Marta crossed her arms and blew a lock of dirty blonde hair out of her thick glasses, looking down disapprovingly.

"No?" Irina chuckled guiltily, before backtracking. "I mean, things have been pretty hectic at the rink since now _both_ senior's and junior's assignments for the Grand Prix have been announced."

"Yeah! Tuesday, somebody threw up on the ice after their routine!" Anastasia announced.

"That was gross," Irina noted as Marta made a "gag-me" gesture.

"I'll bet," Irina's mother chuckled nervously. "And as such, please don't mention it at the dinner table."

"Oh, sorry, Mrs. Lebedeva," Anastasia apologized.

"It's alright, dear."

"If you've forgotten, Irina," A quiet voice spoke up. "It's been exactly five years from your first skating competition."

"Oh!" Irina exclaimed before groaning. "I can't believe I forgot! Thank you, Alina."

Alina Mironova gave a small smile. Alina used to attend ballet lessons with her, but soon found herself more at home in the backstage than the forefront. She had a bob of brown hair and wide eyes with arched eyebrows, making her look slightly surprised all the time, though her eyes were usually covered by turquoise glasses.

"We are all so proud of you." Her mother smiled while her father flashed her a thumbs up. "You've really gone a long way. And we thought we'd throw this party to help calm your nerves before the St. Gervais competition."

"Only two days before you have to leave!" Her father mused, before his eyes swelled up with tears. "My baby!"

While the rest of the party laughed, Irina nodded and her face went solemn. The St. Gervais competition. It was a bit strange to think, that while the autumn leaves started to fall and the breeze would pick up in Russia, she would be in France, competing in the first skating competition of the Junior Grand Prix.

"Yes, two days." With sudden inspiration, she dashed her finger across the top of the cake, gathering a glop of frosting, and turned to the party, smiling. "Well, who's up for cake?"

"You've just ruined the cake for everyone!" Marta complained over the sudden chatter about getting cake.

Irina shrugged and sucked the frosting off her finger.

* * *

"C'mon, chin up!" Miss Krupina advised Irina as she practiced her routine. "Last day before we leave for France!"

The skating rink had its usual medley of people practicing on and off the ice. Most skated around the edges, but if they had to practice a routine, like Irina, they occupied middle.

Irina glided across the ice, executing a layback spin. It was maddening; the wait. The wait before she went home, the wait before she boarded the plane, the wait before she competed. The wait was easily the worst part of the competition for her. And Miss Krupina knew it.

The coach stood just beyond the glass blocks of the rink, judging her performance and calling out notes and encouragement. Miss Krupina's brown hair was cut short, and despite being in her early 30s, she still looked as agile as many of the skaters on the rink.

As Irina started to prepare for a jump, she spotted something out of the corner of her eye. Usually, she would try her best to ignore everything beside her own movements while she was skating (except Miss Krupina, if it was practice) but this figure demanded attention. The tall frame and harsh face. The slightly graying hair pulled into a bun. The familiarity of all of it. She stumbled and flubbed her ballet jump, landing square on the ice. The irony.

"Ms. Baranovskaya." Irina sat, stunned as Miss Krupina yelled out her concerns.

"Are you okay? What happened?"

"It's really her." She felt like she was in a day dream.

"Hey, are you alright?" Anastasia skated over from where she had been talking with her coach and peeled Irina off the ice. "C'mon, shake it off. You've got a competition soon, you know."

"Look," Irina directed Anastasia's gaze towards the many windows of the rink. "It's her, Ms. Baranovskaya."

"Your old ballet teacher?" They both glided towards the edge, where Miss Krupina stood, waiting. "But this is an ice rink, not some dance floor."

"She's with Yuri." The blond teen was standing across from the forma Prima Ballerina, glaring at her. "And Yakov."

"Does he want to become a ballerina too? Should I tell him the job's already taken?" Anastasia's usual cheery and joking personality allowed Irina to shake off some of her shock and say more than a couple of words.

"No, I don't think so." Irina carefully tucked a few strands of hair that had been knocked loose from her fall back into her bun. "For some reason, I just can't imagine it."

"I can. It's pretty hilarious."

"Irina, are you okay?" Miss Krupina's voice broke into the chatter.

Irina nodded. "Yes. I doubt it'll even bruise."

"Good." Miss Krupina checked her watch. "Your session is almost over. Why don't we just end now?"

Irina nodded again.

"Okay. Remember, get plenty of rest, don't focus on the wait and don't get distracted while you're in the rink. Got it?"

"Mhmm."

She and Anastasia skated off the rink as Miss Krupina started to chat with another one of the coaches.

"So, if Yuri isn't trying to achieve ballet stardom, then what else can he be doing with Ms. Grouchy?" Anastasia said.

"Maybe she's choreographing one of his routines? Whenever we put on recitals, she always choreographed all of them, and they were all big hits with everybody who attended." They both stumbled out of the rink door and went over to one of the black benches lined against the walls.

"Okay, problem solved!" Anastasia exclaimed. "She's choreographing. For Yuri Plisetsky. Not strange at all." Anastasia rolled her eyes.

Irina shrugged and started to untie her skates. "It's the best I can come up with." She then glanced over to where the group stood and winced. "But she is giving him the ballerina treatment. I _hated_ the monthly teeth check."

Anastasia glanced over as well. "Geez. How many times do you think she got bitten?"

Irina swatted at Anastasia's arm, but snickered. "I don't know, but if she heard you, she'd kill you."

"Probably." Anastasia leaned over and grabbed her phone out of her bag. "Do you think I should text Alina and ask her about it? The tooth thing, I mean?"

"No!" Irina was horrified. "Don't do that!"

"Why not? I mean, she'll never find out." Anastasia gestured her phone to where Ms. Baranovskaya still stood, now stretching Yuri's leg over his head. Anastasia then started to unlock her phone, before stopping. "Hey, shouldn't you be catching a bus right about now?"

"What?" Irina grabbed Anastasia's phone out of her hand. "Oh no. I have to go!"

Irina grabbed her bag and started to jog out of the rink.

"Good luck!" Irina heard Anastasia yell behind her and she was reminded of the St. Gervais competition. She had nearly forgotten, with seeing Ms. Baranovskaya. As she pushed out of the doors to the rink and ran into the streets, she could only think of the competition and what it would bring. That is, until she had to chase after a bus for nearly a block.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note: Yay! First real chapter! Well, remember to fav, follow and review! Thank you for reading!**_


	3. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note: Hi! Thank you for all the favs and follows! And a special thanks to Riladell and** **Tsukiyomi-Hio for reviewing! Now onto the chapter!**_

 _ **Disclaimer: I do not own Yuri on Ice or any recognizable**_ ** _characters_**

* * *

"The sights are quite beautiful, aren't they, Miss Krupina?" Irina raised her phone and took a quick shot of the rushing scenery of the countryside. The rolling hills stretched out until they formed staggering mountains that dotted the skyline. Filtered light shined a hazy hue over the scene in the late afternoon.

Miss Krupina didn't answer, only letting out a soft snore. Irina turned around to see her coach asleep on the deep red train seat in the otherwise empty compartment. Irina gave a small smile and turned around to stare out the windows again.

They were on a train to St. Gervais, the quaint village made for winter sports, including skating. They had chosen to take the train for the final leg of their journey, and with its stability and nice path through scenery, Irina thought it perfect. And so did Miss Krupina, but apparently for a nap instead of sight-seeing.

The train had a velvety red seat covering, and a silver, white and gold diamond patterned carpet. Its interior walls were painted an elegant gold, with appropriate garnishes, including matching candlestick holders jutting out from the walls, holding their electronic flickering flames. The train had promised a ride that would transport you back to the 19th century, but with all the safety of the 21st.

Irina took a couple more photos, uploaded them to her Instagram and then sat down. The train ride had quieted her nerves, and she found it much better to be enamored with the scenery than to be nervous. Her hair was in ringlets that bounced down to her shoulders and she was wearing a long-sleeved white turtleneck with black pants and beige boots, well suited for the predicted chill.

"Imagine this place in the winter." Irina scrolled through photos of the town, its buildings and sights covered under a light layer of snow. "It would be perfect! I bet you can even go skating on the lake."

Miss Krupina snored again.

"Oh, right," Irina chuckled and then went back to her musings. "I wonder how Anastasia is, with her training."

Miss Krupina didn't respond, instead, her head slid off her hand so it lay on the arm rest.

"I should just call," Irina continued, oblivious. "But I don't know it if's late in Russia. It could be midnight! But, it could also only be a few hours ahead. I should look it up."

Furiously, she began typing. "Aha! It's only two hours ahead! But then again…" She trailed off for a second. "Bah! I'm calling!"

Three rings sounded out in the room before, "Hello, this is Anastasia Orlova! If I didn't answer at the ring, then I didn't care!" There was a chuckle at the other side of the line, before what sounded like a realization occurred. "Wait, don't go! It was a joke. Just leave a message at the- BEEEEEEP."

"Um, hi, this is Irina. I'm about to arrive in St. Gervais. It's really nice out here. I can see why it's a popular tourist destination. Hopefully, St. Gervais will live up to its reputation and have a fantastic rink. Remember to watch the live stream, okay? I'll show you the signal. And call back as soon as possible. Bye." She clicked off.

"That was a waste of time," Irina sighed. "I'm going to take more pictures." And with that she strutted off to the window, with Miss Krupina still sleeping.

* * *

Irina was still taking pictures when she started to see small structures in the distance. "That must be the town! We have to be getting clos-" The train jolted forward with a sudden lurch and Irina fell into the nearest seat.

Miss Krupina awoke with a snort. "What?"

The intercom crackled to life and the speaker said something in French, before repeating it in English. "Excuse us for the inconvenience, but we have now arrived at Gare de Saint-Gervais-les-Bains-Le Fayet." The phrase was then repeated in a couple other languages, including her native Russian before the intercom silenced.

"Well, c'mon, it's our stop." Miss Krupina stood up, returning to her full, towering height. "We can't waste a second!"

Irina gave a small smile and stood up as well, but not to a towering height, and they exited the train.

* * *

The station was filled with bustling figures, all dressed warmly. Rightly so, because when they stepped out, a chill was present in the air. The trees across the street were decorated in flecks of gold, brown and orange. The sky was bursting full of the pinks, oranges and blues of sunset, shadowing over the mountains of evergreens.

Irina gaped and took a photo, before pocketing her phone and just gazing at the sights.

Miss Krupina, however, was already opening a door to a cab. "Come on! We need to have a good night's rest before the competition!"

Irina nodded and scurried after her.

* * *

"Tonight is the first event of the Junior Grand Prix!" The announcer narrated. "Junior skaters all around the world have come to St. Gervais, France to win gold. Tonight we will be seeing the men's and ladies' short programs. The skaters competing tonight will be-"

* * *

"Turn it off! Turn it off!" A young skater from the Czech Republic cried and soon the sound from the television disappeared. Irina turned around to see the young girl rounding a corner, her hand covering her mouth. Nerves could be a very dangerous thing.

Irina went back to going through her warm-up routine, using the edge of a bench as a substitute barre. Her competition was milling around, chatting with their coaches or doing warm-up by themselves. Everybody was busy, and didn't bother talking to other competitors. Even though Irina knew she wasn't a particularly harsh person to her competitors, she also knew they're conversations couldn't go beyond general small talk.

As she continued to stretch, the light tinkle of her ringtone ran through the room. Rather loudly.

"Um, sorry." She awkwardly stumbled into a normal standing position as everybody watched, even the girl, back and cured of her ailment. "That's mine. I forgot to turn it on silent."

As she clicked the accept button and staggered to a seat, the general buzz of chatter returned. "Hello?"

"Hi! I've called!" Anastasia's voice filled her ear.

"Anastasia! How did you're training go?"

"You know, same as usual. How are you doing?"

"Same as usual. Excited, nervous, anxious." Anastasia repeated the last three words with her, and they both giggled.

"I couldn't resist," Anastasia said. "You've said the same thing before the last five competitions."

"Well, I always feel the same way!"

"Mhmm. If it makes you feel better, they just showed us clips of you guys in the skaters lounge and you looked very graceful performing your warm-ups. But I feel bad for the girl they showed running out of the shot; she looked like she was going to throw. What was her name again, Kira?"

"Klara. But she's back and she looks fine." Irina stole a glance at Klara, who was wiping her forehead with a now damp rag. "For the most part. It's probably her first year."

"Mhmm. Anyway, it was two times," Anastasia stated proudly.

"Huh?"

"The biting thing. Alina said she thought it was about two times a month with the younger students. Coincidentally, the number of students kicked out per month."

"You actually asked?" Irina exclaimed.

"I wanted to know," Anastasia said nonchalantly. "Anyway, good luck! And wish Klara luck too, after all, she is competing against you!"

"Bye!" Irina clicked off and the intercoms in the room crackled. The junior ladies were to report to the ice for a warm-up. The competition was starting.


	4. Chapter 2 and a half

_**Author's Note: Thank you guys for all the follows and favs! And special thanks to Riladell, LyssaQueen, Gold emblem and Melissa Fairy for reviewing! Don't worry about this being short, I'll update soon (that's a promise, I'm working on the next chapter as I, well, type.) And thank you again for all the favs and follows! (Almost 50 followers, wow!) And for the last question, everyone's speaking the same thing. See if you can guess which one's Irina!**_

* * *

 **[PRE-ST. GERVAIS COMPETITION INTERVIEW]**

* * *

 **"What, or who, are you skating for this season?"**

* * *

"My country."

"Me."

"Everybody."

"My friends and family." *bites lip* "And for what I didn't get to do last season..."

"The ones that are gone."

"Love."

* * *

 **"What inspired your program?"**

* * *

"I liked the music, so I based my choreography around that."

"The change the body and mind can go through, if it's pushed."

"I…I don't know."

"My country, and the season I love most."

"How I felt after, um, _it_."

"Him."

* * *

 **"What do you want people to get out of your program?"**

* * *

"Pride, pride of my country and the progress we've made for its skaters to be here."

"A tale of transformation."

"Appreciation of my skating, maybe?" *squirms* "Sorry, I'm new to this."

"A new view of an often villainized season." *laughs* "Seems a bit silly when you say it out loud, doesn't it?"

"The emotions I went through after _it_."

"A tale of… _romance._ " *holds seriousness for a moment, then breaks down in laughter*

* * *

 **"What would it mean to you if you went on and won the JGPF?"**

* * *

"Everything."


	5. Chapter 3

_**Author's Note: And I'm back with a new chapter! And can I just say, wow! 32 favs and 60 follows in 4 (now 5) chapters! I'm just...ecstatic! Yay! Just, I'd like to thank everyone who's faved, followed and just read this story. And thank you for the reviews Riladell and Ravenclaw Slytherin!**_

 _ **I, for some reason, compiled a list of short program music for the skaters (with links) because it... may enhance viewing experience? I did the list, you're getting it. It's actually on my writer's tumblr, (link in my profile) just to be safe. So if you want to check it out, be my guest.**_

 ** _Disclaimer: I do not own Yuri on Ice or any music. I just have the OCs._**

* * *

Irina glided onto the ice, and for the first time since she had arrived at the rink, was very aware of her competition. And the threat they imposed.

The two oldest skaters competing were Aimi Kato of Japan and Evita Flores of Argentina, both 17. They had been chatting on the side of the ice, before they skated off to start their individual warm-ups. Their close friendship was well-known by other skaters, mostly because of the somewhat oddness of it. The two skaters were on equal, but high, ground and competed against each other in high level competitions often, yet still remained a close friendship. It was a bit of a peculiar situation to form a friendship in, especially a continental crossing one, but it worked for them nonetheless. Irina was glad that at least her friends were in the same country as her (same city, to be exact).

Irina hadn't competed against them, at least, not in this setting, but from what she had seen in various articles (she liked to read up on skating news before competitions. And after. And in between. It was a bit of an addiction) their experience made them formidable competitors. And so far, their warm-ups looked impressive.

The two skaters looked quite different, yet the same. They both had their hair pulled up in buns but while Evita's hair was dark brown and her bun let two curly wisps loose, Aimi had jet black hair and only her square shaped bangs that hung above her brow escaped her bun. They both had dark eyes, but Evita's was brown, while Aimi's eyes were a steely dark grey. Evita's skin was deeply tanned, while Aimi was more on the paler side. However, both girls shared the same tall, lean, imposing stature and somewhat cold facial features.

Cilla Engberg, a skater from Sweden, seemed quite cheery as she practiced what looked like her step sequence. Her motions were fluid, and her form seemed to melt into each new position. Good technique, though the steps looked somewhat basic, but Irina didn't know if she should judge just yet, it was only warm-ups, after all.

Cilla had curly blonde hair, cut to her chin, and brown eyes. She was of average height for her sixteen years, and had the typical skater's build. She was still smiling as she moved on to jumps.

There was another skater, Yvonne Chong, from Singapore. Irina hadn't heard much about her, and figured that she had been a bit late to the game, with sources saying she started competing professionally at 13. She was 15 now, and she looked somber. Her long black hair was pulled into a low ponytail and her dark eyes were cold and disinterested. Irina honestly didn't know what to expect of her.

Klara was stuck into one corner of the rink near her coach, which wasn't a particularly good technique, as it confined her and limited the moves she could practice. She at least seemed a bit better than before, as she was performing her moves successfully. Though the nervous look was still evident on her face and bright green eyes, a fact that her coach was trying, but failing, to alleviate. Her light brown hair was still hanging loose at the chin while she skated and Irina could not tell whether the paleness in her skin and the pink tint of her cheeks were because of nervousness or whether she was always like this. In all honesty, she reminded Irina of when she first started, tiny (though she wasn't particularly large now) and a bit scared (though Klara was more than a bit scared).

Irina was still thinking when she heard someone yell to her.

"Irina! Focus!" Miss Krupina called as Irina skated past her. Irina shook the dazed look from her eyes. She _had_ been getting quite distracted. Not very good for competing. She took a deep breath and tried to focus. With renewed energy, she continued to warm up.

They were soon called off the ice and filed into the skaters' lounge, except for Evita, who was skating first.

Irina took her place next to Miss Krupina on one of the plush couches leaning against the wall, pulling out a stress ball before giving it a squeeze. The stress ball depicted a skater on its front and when you squeezed it, she was supposed to "dance". It never worked quite right, only crushing the skater on the front quite painfully. It distressed Irina somewhat, but if she tried not to look at it, the stress ball still fulfilled its purpose.

The other skaters scattered around the room, Cilla the closest to her on the next coach, sitting within a variety of distance from the TV, which was back on and currently broadcasting Evita's short program. Irina took a deep breath and turned to watch.

* * *

"First on the ice is Evita Flores, representing Argentina! She'll be skating to an instrumental version of 'Carmen Habanera'."

The 17 year-old was already in the center of the rink, waiting for the song to play. Her costume had a base color of a bright red, with gauzy, somewhat poufy short yellow sleeves and an underskirt made of the same material under her more solid red skirt. After a few seconds, the notes sounded out and she began to move.

The way she performed her moves was a good balance between disciplined and fluid, looking perfectly new and fresh to the audience while also still retaining the grace of months of practice.

* * *

Irina rolled the stress ball in the palm of her hand, frowning slightly as she watched. She was just as good as expected. Maybe even a bit more.

* * *

Evita was starting to hype for the first combination in her program, then-

"A double lutz followed by a single toe loop! Executed perfectly."

As Evita rounded out the jumps, the applause thrumming behind her, a small smile could be seen playing on her lips.

* * *

Her jumps were great too. Irina's eyes darted around the room for a moment, looking hesitantly for everyone's reactions. Aimi was nodding in approval, and, as Evita performed more of her routine onscreen, was starting to get ready for her own performance. Cilla seemed happy, Yvonne looked apathetic, and Klara looked just more nervous than her. Not particularly good for the Czech skater, Irina noted, considering how she had so far displayed her nerves.

Aimi stood up and started to walk out, which signaled to Irina that Evita's performance was coming to a close.

* * *

Evita performed one last spin and finished to cheers. She stood there for a moment, and when the applause started to weaken, she glided off the rink and switched places with Aimi, but not before they exchanged a quick high-five.

"Skating next will be Kato Aimi of Japan! She'll be skating to 'The Double', from the Black Swan."

Aimi's costume was had a base color of black with somehow darker black feather decorating the skirt and shoulders. A few rhinestones dotted the chest and dark makeup surrounded her eyes, making blackened wings. When the first few notes of the song played, after the announcement of Evita's score, which was good and fair, for her performance was good as well, they were different. They were _dark_.

* * *

Irina watched, a bit shocked, as the routine played out. The piece was dark in nature and those pieces were usually reserved for seniors. The skaters in the lounge seemed as surprised as Irina. Sadly, Klara looked even worse for the wear since she was up next. The biggest surprise, however, was that Aimi was _nailing it_.

* * *

The audience seemed a bit confused at first, as Aimi hadn't given a lot of information on her music, so it was as much as a shock to them as it was to the skaters. They got over it quickly though, and their hearty applause was trigged when Aimi landed a triple toe loop flawlessly.

* * *

Klara definitely was looking worse, her eyes wide and shoulders tense. The dark music and sound performance did not seem like a good mix for her. Irina felt sympathy bubble up inside her as Klara seemed to get more and more nervous.

* * *

Aimi landed her last requirement in the piece, a combination, to cheers. The audience didn't stop until she skated off the ice to get her score.

* * *

Klara stood up, legs shaking. She looked horrible, like she had been rattled to the core. Her coach was there, desperately trying to comfort her. Irina suddenly stood up and went over to her.

When they looked up at her, Irina realized she didn't really have a plan, and just started to babble, blithely smiling the whole time. "Um, hi! I just came over to wish you luck! So, luck!"

To her joy, Klara looked less nervous, though she didn't speak, only giving her a nod.

But while Klara exited, Aimi's score was announced. And the fact that she was in first place.

"Good game," Irina heard Evita mutter when the news was announced. "Good game."

* * *

"Third on ice is Klara Dvorakova from the Czech Republic, the youngest competing tonight at 13. She will be skating to 'The Nutcracker II, March'."

Klara's costume was basically the skater's version of the nutcracker's signature outfit, but with a skirt instead of pants and no coattails. Klara isn't looking at the audience, instead, her eyes are closed and she's taking deep breaths. Then the music started.

Klara was doing well. The jumps she had performed were quick, high and well-executed. She even looked less nervous. But when she performed her first combination, she fell. Stumbled and clattered onto the ice. Instead of recovering like most skaters, she just sat there, frozen.

* * *

Irina stared at the screen, the gasps that had erupted in the room quieting down. Klara wasn't getting up. Panic seized her. Had she been hurt? Did she twist something? Break something?

* * *

Slowly, Klara staggered to her feet, as if remembering she was in a performance. She completed her routine with shaking hands. Overall, she hadn't been down for even thirty seconds, but it counted for a lot.

* * *

Irina cringed as she got up for her own performance, Klara's dismal score announced. She looked heartbroken. Hopefully, Klara would pull through in the free program. Despite the fact it seemed impossible.

In a haze, Irina walked to the ice. Past the white hallways with photographs hanging on their walls and into the cold arena. The audience was broken into whispers, but some seemed to notice her presence and clapped. She gave as best a smile as she could to them.

When she and Miss Krupina were next to the transparent windows of the rink, Miss Krupina delivered her usual before competition speech. "Remember, focus on your skating. Just how you're doing right that second, not the audience, not what you did before, just the now. And, hey," She gave a soft smile. "Don't be shaken up. You'll do great."

Irina nodded mechanically, bending her arm experimentally. She shrugged off her team Russia jacket and politely handed it to Miss Krupina. Her skating outfit was entirely white, full of light glittery accents that formed patterns, like snowflakes on it. After making sure her bun wouldn't fall loose, she took a deep breath and stepped onto the ice.

"Entering the rink is Russia's Irina Lebedeva, her first major competition since-"

She blocked them out. As she glided to the center rink, her heart was pounding, until it was met with the light tinkle of piano; the first few notes of Debussy's "The Snow Is Dancing". Slowly, she began to skate.

The most peculiar thing about skating was, that after so many years, she still hadn't tired of it. Competitions were always nerve-wracking, but the skating part was fine. Better than fine. The best part of her day, her week, perhaps even her month. So when she finally began to move her feet, her nerves bubbled up and disappeared.

She floated across the rink, feeling light as a feather. The point of this routine was to imitate a snowflake, light and falling through the air, being pushed and pulled by the wind in an elemental dance. A small smile graced her face as the rink turned into open air, the cool breeze shuttling around her. She executed a spin, and could barely hear the audience's cheering in the background. For a moment, it was just her and the ice, all pressure of competition gone.

But, all good things must come to an end, because the first jump was arriving. She prepared, then hesitated, then flopped.

"Lebedeva has turned her triple lutz into a double."

Instinctively, she squeezed her eyes shut, remembering Miss Krupina's words. Focus on the _now_. She continued to perform.

Then a combination came up. It worked out fine, but could have been a bit smoother. A spin went perfectly, as did the step sequence, but another jump got downgraded. The rest of the routine went well, though.

Then the music peaked and ended. She drifted to the center, waving and smiling to the cheering audience. They were happy, at least, and it lifted her spirits. When she started to skate off, she wished she could continue, just a bit longer. Not for points, just for the _feeling_. However, she continued to skate off.

When she was on solid ground, Miss Krupina gave her a smile, not patronizing, but genuine and handed her back the jacket. Putting it one, Irina followed her to where they would wait for the scores. It was a simple bench in front of a backdrop and behind a coffee table. The table was full of soft cuddly things, ready to calm nerves. Several cameras were set up to record her reaction. Miss Krupina had taught her when they first encountered the bench to keep a straight face, because giving them disappoint was the last thing she wanted to do.

Even in her nervous state, Irina remembered to give her nose a tap and give the cameras a somewhat goofy smile, her signal to Anastasia and consequently, all her friends and family back home. When the media first noticed the trend, they couldn't pin-point exactly why she did it, but had written it off as a way to lighten the mood for her fans as the scores were announced.

It wasn't exactly that, of course, but doing the action usually made Irina feel better. It was hard to be sad or even mildly disappointed in a place like this, where everything made her feel better. But, all in all, she wasn't usually a sad person to begin with.

Miss Krupina elbowed her lightly. Her score was being announced. Third place. She resisted the urge to frown. It was a good score, just not a great one.

After some waving and smiling, they walked back to the skaters' lounge.

"Irina? Are you happy with your score?" Miss Krupina asked.

"Oh, yeah," she responded absentmindedly.

"We need to work on your jumps, make sure you're completing them."

"Mhmm."

Miss Krupina looked at her. "Do you want to call your family? Talk to them?"

"Huh? Yeah. But I'll wait until the competition finishes." They walked into the room and took their seats. A quick glance of the room showed Klara and her coach had disappeared. Irina sighed and looked at the TV to see Yvonne performing.

* * *

Yvonne's performance was in full swing, almost halfway in. Her outfit was entirely made of dark blue, swirls of silvers on the skirt and sleeves the only eye-catching part.

She was performing to a somewhat gloomy melody, though her performance wasn't spectacular. The jumps were choppy and the step sequence was a bit sloppy, but it did have passion.

* * *

Cilla leaned over from the next couch and gave her a poke. "She's performing to Fredric Chopin's Prelude in E-Minor. Work 28, number 4," she cheerfully informed Irina.

"Oh? Thank you."

"No problem!" Cilla went back to watching the screen and Irina did too.

* * *

Yvonne's performance was winding to a close and she skated to the center of the rink, the music dying off. Tears seemed to be springing up in her eyes when she walked off.

* * *

Irina looked around to see that Cilla had disappeared from the room.

Miss Krupina checked her watch. "I hope the cab comes in time."

Irina nodded.

They both perked up when they heard Yvonne's score announced. Fourth place, below Irina by a few points. Miss Krupina gave her a smile.

* * *

"Last on the ice is Cilla Engberg, representing Sweden, performing to Salut d'Amour."

Cilla was standing in the center of the rink, wearing an outfit of soft pink, with gold accents. When the violin's notes played out, she started to skate. Her performance contained the same fluidity it had in warm-ups, but also the same simpleness.

* * *

The skaters remaining in the lounge started to get ready to go. Irina stuffed her stress ball in her bag and took out her phone. At least ten messages already. She'd reply to them in the cab, when it was calmer.

* * *

Cilla gave one last bow and glided off the ice.

* * *

The last announcement played, talking about the final places. Aimi Kato, first. Evita Flores, second. Irina Lebedeva, third. Yvonne Chong, fourth. Cilla Engberg, fifth. Klara Dvorakova, sixth. Room for change for all of them.

Miss Krupina grabbed her own bag and they walked to the front door, where the cab would be waiting. But along the sidewalk were around a dozen reporters, maybe more. Cameras were posed while notebooks were drawn out, waiting.

"Ready?" Miss Krupina asked, glancing at the front door, then back to Irina.

"Ready." And they stepped outside into a frenzy of flashing bulbs.


	6. Chapter 4

**_Author's Note: I don't think I'll write an author's note without thanking you all. Seriously, you guys are amazing. Just. Mind blowing. And I'm so sorry for not updating in forever, I've just had a lot of work with school, and it's really taken up the time I usually spend for writing. So if you thought I was dead, I'm terribly sorry, and if you hoped I was dead, then I'm not sorry for you at all._**

 ** _And thank you Day, Silent Killing and Momonchan77 for the reviews! (I really appreciated the constructive criticism you gave me, Silent Killing, because with that information, I can hopefully better the story, which I'm always striving for. So thank you!)_**

 ** _Disclaimer: I do not own Yuri on Ice, or any of the characters in the story, or any of the music mentioned. Just the OCs._**

* * *

Irina sat on her bed in the hotel. Well, not so much as sitting as she was laying upside down with her feet on the headboard. But at least she wasn't wearing her shoes.

It was a bit hard to scroll through the news on her phone in the position, but she managed.

"Did you know that Cilla Engberg's boyfriend is also competing in St. Gervais?"

"No, I did not," came Miss Krupina's slightly (okay, mostly) bored response.

She and Miss Krupina didn't share a room, not technically, but they were linked by a doorway and Miss Krupina came over often. She was her "guardian" on the trip, and she took it seriously. She was standing at the dresser table, across from the bed, sifting through her purse.

"Me neither." Irina scrolled down the various articles, picking out the ones that mentioned any of her competitors or rink mates.

"Do you know how Viktor's doing?" Miss Krupina fished out a handful of business cards and scowled at them.

"Eh…" It didn't take long to find an article about Viktor's leave from skating to coach a guy that, to everybody's prior knowledge, had pretty much quit skating after the last GPF. Finding a reliable one, though, seemed near impossible. She scrolled pass many that said Viktor was eloping with Yuuri's sister, or wasn't eloping with her at all, but had gotten her pregnant and was promptly blackmailed by Yuuri into coaching him. Others insisted that Yakov had sent him as a spy. Irina found all of these unlikely, for various reasons. In the end, she managed to find a reliable source. "He's doing well."

Miss Krupina pulled out a pair of pearl earrings, which fell apart almost immediately after she gave them a twist, causing two twin pearls to bounce on the dresser. "Exactly how well?"

"'Sure to be one of the greatest achievements of my life' well," she answered.

"Hmm." Irina couldn't tell if Miss Krupina was personally pleased or displeased by the news, mostly since she was upside-down and that made it hard to read expressions. "I'm glad he's happy."

Irina agreed. Viktor had sulked around the rink for months, mourning his lost inspiration. Yakov had also yelled at him for months, telling him that, "Champions do not go all Georgi over failing Japanese skaters!" So Irina felt this was the best decision for Viktor. And herself. Her ears couldn't have taken the abuse anymore. Now Yakov was mostly silent in his fury.

Miss Krupina pulled out another small piece of paper from her purse. "You like fro-yo, right?"

Before Irina could answer, a distinct chirping sound interrupted her, and Irina sprung up. "Oh, Miss Krupina, I'm sorry, I've got a video call-"

Miss Krupina dismissed her apologies with a wave of her hand. "It was expired anyway." She heaved her purse over her shoulder and started grappling for papers. "Just remember-"

"Go to bed, wake up early, and have a big breakfast. Got it." Miss Krupina smiled and walked out the door, leaving Irina and her dinging laptop.

Irina pulled the laptop off a nightstand and answered the video call. With a push of a button, the faces of Alina and Anastasia filled the screen.

"We didn't interrupt anything, did we?" Anastasia grinned.

"Nothing much, I was just talking with Miss Krupina, but she said she needed to go to bed," Irina answered.

"I told you waiting five more minutes was a good idea," Alina said to Anastasia.

"Eh." Anastasia shrugged. "It would have turned out all right."

"If you say so," Alina said before blocking her face from Anastasia's view and mouthing: _'It would not have.'_

Irina grinned and replied out loud, "Oh, you know Miss Krupina. She wouldn't make a big deal out of something so minor."

"You guys don't even try to hide when you're talking about me behind my back anymore." Anastasia gave a fake pout. "Some friends."

"Yeah, we're terrible," Alina said.

"Absolutely horrible," Irina reaffirmed. "I don't know you even put up with us."

Anastasia gave an over-exaggerated sigh. "I try. However," Anastasia stole one last impish look at the camera. "We did not call just to dilly-dally. We called to discuss the competition."

Irina shifted. "Of course." One of the prices to pay, or, conversely, benefits of having friends that she shared the rink with was that they always could and most likely would have opinions on routines and performances.

"Don't take offense to this-" Alina started.

"You're my friends, I couldn't," Irina dismissed with a smile.

Alina gave a soft smile as well. "I know. Here's the thing-"

"You haven't receded into the shell during competitions, have you?" Anastasia questioned, all business. "Because you seemed sort of serious, but not in a good way. Like you were trying to blow something up with your mind or somethin'."

"Wonderful analogy." Alina rolled her eyes. "Tolstoy couldn't have phrased it better himself."

Anastsia responded by elbowing her in side and Alina exclaimed, "Hey!", before they started to playfully bicker.

Irina was inwardly relieved when she realized they weren't talking about her actual performance, rather, her…behavior. On second thought, that wasn't very reliving. However, it was much easier to discuss. She knew the shell well.

The shell was what her friends referred to as her right before competition phase. When she, allegedly, shut down and lost all cheeriness.

It was first noticed when she performed her first ballet recital, where, to everyone's surprise, Ms. Baranovskaya, had told her to "chin up". That was probably the closest thing to motivation they had heard from Ms. Baranovskaya by that point.

Alina had walked up to her after, tripping over her feet as she squinted. Ms. Baranovskaya had taken away her glasses for the recital, a move she would soon regret when Alina tripped over her _jeté_ and took out a whole line of ballerinas. The bruise on Irina's knee had lasted for weeks. Alina had asked, "Why do you have a shell all of a sudden. Did something happen?" The term was born then, and Irina had explained that it had only been nerves. And the had nerves continued. She felt it particularly strong this year, which did not predict well for future competitions.

She was broken out of her thoughts when she realized that Alina and Anastasia were still arguing, and she cleared her throat in an overly-snobby manner. "Ahem? I thought we were talking abut me?"

"Oh, yeah," Alina said, her voice raised a pitch in embarrassment. "Just remember to keep calm and-"

"Skate on!" Anastasia interrupted. Irina gave a little clap for that joke.

"-remember happy things," finished Alina, unperturbed. "We like it when you smile," she noted warmly.

Irina nodded. "I will." She gave a brief glance to her phone, before looking up again. "Hey, Anastasia, what did you use to do to relax before competitions again?"

* * *

"Oh, I remember that!" Irina giggled.

"Yeah! Hey, Alina, did you ever get that out of your headset?" Anastasia asked.

"No," Alina sighed. "No, I did not."

Irina squinted and spotted the small digital clock in the background. "Shouldn't you guys be getting to bed around now?"

"Nah, it's fine-" Anastasia started to say.

"Anastasia Orlova!" a shrill voice from offscreen started to shriek. "I have been waiting in this parlor room for over half-an-hour and I am _not_ going to drive home in pitch black!"

"Yeah, you're mom's not going to wait any longer," Alina noted to Anastasia.

Anastasia grumbled and called back down to her mother, before getting up and sighing. "Guess I've to go now."

"Tell Mrs. Orlova I said hi!" Irina said.

Anastasia mumbled something and waved bye, before leaving the room.

"I should probably log off too, before my dad comes up here," Alina said.

"Bye." The screen went black, but Irina barely got any time to rest before her laptop started dinging again.

With another click, new faces filled the screen. Irina smiled. "Hi, mother. Hi, father."

* * *

"Anyway, so that's how the competition has been so far," Irina finished off.

"Well!" her mother clapped her hands together. "Seems like fun!"

"Did you see the mountains yet?" her father asked excitedly, his face now taking up most of the screen. "Your Uncle Boris says they're some of the best for skiing he's ever seen-"

Her mother leaned back in her chair and groaned as her father started into one of his signature ski rants. Her father had a love for the sport, and, as her mother claimed, her Uncle Boris didn't help by going on a tour of the slopes since his divorce and giving her father a minute-by-minute account. Though Irina knew her mother didn't hate her father's enthusiasm for the sport as much as she claimed, since a smile was evident on her face when she covered her eyes in supposed embarrassment.

Irina waited for her father to finish before chiming in. "Actually, it hasn't snowed here yet. See." She got up and carried the laptop to a window, propping it up on the windowsill. "They have a lot of leaves, though."

"Simply beautiful," her mother cooed, while her father snapped his fingers in disappointment.

Irina smiled. "Miss Krupina and I saw practically the whole landscape during the train ride. It was actually quite nice." She started to turn herself and the laptop around, before she was stopped by her father's exclamation.

"Wait! Wait! Turn back around, it is! It's snowing!" Irina blinked and turned back around. A light snowfall had indeed started outside, already peppering the grass below. It seemed unreal, somehow, like it was the trick of the moon's light. But when she forced the window open with a creak and pushed her hand outside, the flakes that soon melted on her palm convinced her.

"Wow," Irina awed as her mother and father started to chat.

"I believe that's good luck!" her mother declared. "Isn't it good luck, snowfall before a competition?"

Irina shrugged, before remembering the laptop screen was facing the window and her parents couldn't see her. "I don't know. Maybe?"

"Well, it was in skiing," her father stated.

"That's because you ski on snow," her mother pointed out. "It's a winter sport."

"Ice skating is a winter sport."

"I like ice skating," Irina said lamely, still semi-distracted by the falling snowflakes.

"Well, I hope so," her mother joked. "Or the competitions might become a little awkward."

Irina giggled and her mother continued. "Anyway, I'm really sure snowing is good luck. I mean, you're ice skating-" Her father gave a little whoop as her mother took in his idea. "-and your program's on winter!"

"And even if it isn't," her father said. "We can make it good luck. Few know this, but I have the power to declare good luck signs for this family, and I think snowfall will be one."

"Really? Do I get a say on this?" her mother asked.

"Of course," her father answered. "Do you agree, miss?"

"Why, yes I do." Her mother paused for a moment. "Official on one?"

"Two," her father continued.

"Three!" Irina finished. They all laughed.

"It's getting late, so we'll have to say goodnight, sweetie," her mother said as Irina marched off back to her bed.

"Goodnight, see you when I get back." Irina gave the screen a symbolic peck. "Love you."

"Love you," Her parents repeated. And the call ended.

* * *

The next morning, Irina once again found herself walking down the skinny hallway that led to the skaters' lounge for the St. Gervais ice rink. And, once again, a similar pit of nervousness jumped around in her stomach. Though she did her best to ignore it.

She was relieved to find that the tension in the skaters' lounge had relaxed quite a bit. Maybe it was because they had already competed once against each other, so what was one more? Or maybe because they knew a bit more about each other? Whatever the reason, Irina was glad for it.

Cilla was preoccupied with her phone, and, from the flurry of movement her fingers were engaged in, was probably texting. Yvonne was being addressed by her coach, but considering her blank face, she was most likely just staring at the wall. Evita and Aimi were playing…chess? Irina glanced their way again to confirm her suspicions. They had indeed set up some sort of portable chess board, and seemed deeply immersed in it already. Klara was sitting cross-legged next to her coach, staring at the floor.

"Miss Krupina, I'm going to-" She jerked her head in Klara's direction, not really knowing how to finish her sentence.

Miss Krupina nodded, and went over to one of the couches.

Irina tried to casually walk over to Klara, which meant she did not do it casually at all. However, she made it over there.

"Hi, Klara!" Klara jolted slightly, looking surprised at her presence.

"Oh, hello." Klara gave her a pleasant wave and a nervous smile.

"Anyway…" Irina really hadn't thought about how she was supposed to introduce the subject without making it painfully awkward. So she decided to take a swing in the dark. "Do you want to know a great way to relieve stress?"

Klara tilted her head quizzically, then nodded.

"Paddleball!" Irina exclaimed, pulling said object out of her bag. Klara, however, just looked confused. So she tried to explain further. "My friend, Anastasia Orlova-"

"Isn't she another junior skater from Russia?" Klara interrupted.

Irina nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! She used to use this for her first few major competitions. She said it's a great way to relieve stress." Irina started to bounce the rubber ball against the board. "I actually use a stress ball, but I only have one of those. But this fun as well!"

Klara squinted, as though if she were trying to decide if Irina was insane or not.

"Do you want to try?"

Klara stared for a while longer, before nodding and stretching her hand out. Irina placed the paddleball in her hand and Klara gave it a few experimental bounces.

"You know," Klara's coach spoke up. "I used to be pretty good at paddleball, back in the day."

"Really, Mr. Pražák?" Klara asked.

"Yeah, in fact, I guess you could call me a _champion_!" The old man puffed out his chest and gave a wink. Irina giggled. "Come on, give it here."

Klara relinquished the paddleball, and Mr. Pražák brandished it like a weapon. "Now, watch a _real_ master at work."

He had only gotten less than a dozen bounces in before it lost control, and with an "Oops," the paddleball flew through the air and hit the ceiling.

"Wow," Irina murmured watched as the paddleball took a few flakes of plaster down with it.

"Yeah, wow." Klara looked up with an equally awestruck expression. Once the paddleball fell, she raised an eyebrow and a half-smile tugged at the corner of her lip.

Mr. Pražák chuckled and picked the paddleball up again. "Well, it's been a while."

"May I try again?" Klara asked, and Mr. Pražák nodded.

Irina stood for a few seconds longer, a smile on her face, before heading back to Miss Krupina.

She heard Aimi declare, "Checkmate!" and saw Evita's friendly scowl. Yvonne was now pacing, and Cilla had upgraded to cooing into her phone. Passing by, she gave them all a grin.

Irina sat down and started to drum her fingers on the arm of the couch. "So, what's the lineup?"

Miss Krupina sent her an odd look. "It goes from the lowest scoring skater to the highest, like always."

Irina stopped her drumming. "…Oh no." And the distinct sound of Dmitri Shostakovich's "Waltz No. 2" started to play from the TV.

* * *

Slow. That's all Irina could think to describe it. It was much slower than the high jumps of the other day, but not in the bad way. It was actually quite nice. She could also tell Klara was more relaxed than before by the somewhat languid way she slid around the rink, which helped bring the audience to cheers whenever there was a jump, as though they expected her to just glide around the entire routine.

But, despite the fact the most major accident of the routine was a point where Irina was afraid that Klara's skates would clash and get caught together (which they did not) and another time where she tripped and dipped but never hit the ice, it didn't do much. The routine wasn't enough to make up for the precious seconds spent shell-shocked on the ice, and they all knew it. But, did it really matter all that badly when the score got the sadness to disappear from Klara's eyes for a moment and have her cheer like a kid receiving a much-awaited toy? No, it did not. And that was the thing that actually mattered.

* * *

When Irina waved Klara a "hello again" and Cilla a "goodbye for now", Irina realized she really didn't know what to expect for Cilla's routine, whether it would be fast and high-paced or slow and melodic. It ended up being the latter.

Irina felt that the piece Cilla skated to, a piece of Lizst's, suited her well. She seemed happy while performing the routine, a smile on her face as she executed the piece with her usual fluidity. Her score reflected that, something that jumped her ahead of the pack. However, considering the majority of skaters hadn't performed their free skate yet, it was hard to tell what would happen to her place in the end. Though maybe she would know sooner than later, Irina thought, as she watched Yvonne take a deep breath and rise out of her chair.

* * *

Yvonne's piece created a soft atmosphere in the rink, like they were watching the ending credits of some heart-wrenching movie. Even though it wasn't the end, not even close.

Still, the piano continued to trill with such gentleness that to breathe during the piece seemed like a crime. She looped around the rink, sometimes backwards, sometimes accompanied by spins and low jumps.

It was delicate, too delicate, Irina realized. The technical aspect lagged. She wondered if the expression of the piece would make up for it. She turned to Miss Krupina for an answer, who only shrugged, saying, "Possibly, but it's not likely."

Ultimately, she _did_ fall behind. Technically, she was in second to Cilla's current first, but it wouldn't last long. Not with Aimi and Evita's current scores predicting what their next would be.

And then Irina was up.

* * *

She stood at the edge of the rink. The outfit she was wearing was a mix of white and a toned down shade of reddish-pink, with some rhinestones thrown in the mix. So she felt sparkly. Which was good, she liked feeling sparkly.

Miss Krupina's words had apparently trickled out the other day (which was rare for her. If she had not been a figure skating coach, Irina would've figured her as a motivational speaker) and she just gave her a standard, "Good luck, you'll do great."

The clink of blades hitting ice made it all so much more real somehow, and she glided to the center of the rink, the music starting to thrum behind her. A piece of Vivaldi's "Winter", arranged to fit the time slot. Vivaldi's "Winter" had always been one of the most famous pieces associated with the season, for obvious reasons.

She started with the simple hum of violins, the anticipation it created hanging heavy in the air like syrup. As she performed her step routine, she remembered the first time she had heard the music. It had been in ballet class, when Ms. Baranovskaya had made them listen to classical music for an hour. Ms. Baranovskaya said it was so they would learn to appreciate classical music, but Irina had always secretly thought it was to get them out of her hair for an hour. She imagined the audience feeling her first reaction, the anxious tapping of her fingers and the impatient flexing of her toes, waiting for the payoff. Once the piece had finished, it soon became one of her favorites. She had longed for Ms. Baranovskaya to present them a routine for it, but she never did. And here she was, performing it in the hopes of reaching the finals.

Then, the tension in the air began to release while the music started to build. Here she was supposed to have a combination. A Double Lutz followed by a Double Loop. Simple.

She felt her muscles tense slightly and she forced them to relax as the cues in the music started to line up. One. Two. Three.

The ice scraped her leg and the coldness of a memory tightened around her throat.

The chill barely had any time to register in her hip before her nails raked against the white-blue and she pushed up. The gasps died down. She continued as though she had never fallen on her loop.

After that, the music blended with the ice and wrapped around her like wind on a winter's evening and the tightness in her throat relaxed. She breathed. And when the music ended, she longed for it to start again.

Because when she left the ice, the feel on snowflakes on her face and frost in her hands died down. And she stopped. Because of the loop.

The last time she had failed that loop, she had been ten, and her feet had shook when met with a request she found difficult. And now she had fallen on it, at a competition no less. Had she really regressed so far?

Miss Krupina's hand on her arm worked as an anchor, and she was guided to where they would wait for scores. They sat. Evita went on the ice. It was announced. They left.

She stumbled before landing on the couch in the skaters' lounge. She kept remembering. What was next? Would she fall backwards on her toe loop? Do a split on her salchow?

The smile Cilla gave her when she glanced her way made her feel silly for such thoughts. Evita's score did not.

But when Aimi left the ice with a grin on her face that matched the ruffle of white feathers around her collar and Irina was announced for third place, she forgot she was supposed to have thoughts on subjects at all.

* * *

The walk to the rink from the skaters' lounge was not at all difficult, but the silence that enclosed it was.

Oddly, it was easy to walk onto the rink for a second time, though.

She took her medal. She smiled for the cameras. She gave a slight nod to Evita and Aimi. She congratulated them on a wonderful performance (and she was genuine). She walked off the ice. She joined Miss Krupina. They headed to the streets outside the rink, Miss Krupina rushing off to hail a cab.

"You did well today." Irina blinked, and the stupor she was in broke, just a little.

She turned around to Klara grinning at her.

"You too," Irina said.

Klara shook her head sadly. "No, not really."

Irina shrugged, not knowing what to say. "It was your first one, and you're the youngest one here-"

"Barely," Klara interrupted.

"-It happens," she finished, nevertheless.

"Yeah, I guess so." Klara looked sideways, before exclaiming, "Oh!" and digging through her bag. "Here's your paddleball back."

"Thanks! I hope we manage to run into each other again," Irina said sincerely, taking back the paddleball. "Maybe at Junior Worlds?"

Klara gave a half-smile, "Maybe," before her coach called her over and she ran off.

* * *

She and Miss Krupina sat in the old-fashioned train once again as they started their journey back to Russia, and paperback in her lap was surprisingly heavy.

Miss Krupina could always tell when something was wrong, and her solution this time was to let her borrow a book of hers. (The only book Irina had brought was about figure skating, and Miss Krupina had stated that she should take a small break for skating, just for the remainder of their journey).

The book was called, _"The Maiden of the Western Estates"_ , and was about Svetlana Tolmachyova, a "fair maiden" working as, well, a maid on the named estates. All in all, it seemed quite boring, though she knew it wasn't the only reason she couldn't focus on Svetlana's soliloquies about her milk pitcher.

(Why couldn't she get the loop out of her head? She had fallen on jumps in competition before, so why did this one weigh so much? Had she somehow grown smug in her abilities without knowing it? She really, really doubted it. So what was the deal here?)

Either way, she broke fifteen minutes after Miss Krupina started snoring.

First, she took out her phone and opened up SNS, sending out a follow request for Klara. At least that was taken care of. With a moment's thought, she sent out one for Cilla as well. She really had been nice. But what now? Her fingers itched to do something, but what? She had no answer for that. She had already called her parents on the ride to the hotel, and she'd decided to put off talking with her friends until tomorrow. She stared at the screen for a moment, before opening up the news.

The cold eyes of Ms. Baranovskaya jumped out at her, a fierce scowl etched on her face. It took a while to calm down from her almost-heart attack, but, nonetheless, Irina was intrigued. It was a picture of Ms. Baranovskaya sauntering down the outside steps of the rink, and, if Irina squinted, she could spot a blurry blond head lurking behind the door. And another head lacking hair. She clicked on the article and her own solution began to formulate.

* * *

 ** _Author's Note: I sort of let the purple prose butterfly of the box in this chapter, didn't I? In other news, I've already got the next chapter lined out, so it should hopefully be ready in early May. Until then, goodbye!_**


	7. Chapter 5

_**Author's Note: Happy mother's day! Thanks again for all the favs and follows, and thank you for the review Silent Killing (and no, I have sadly never heard of Alina Orlova before, but I did listen to some of her songs since you mentioned her, and she's quite melodic!) Anyway, on to the story!**_

 _ **Disclaimer: I do not own Yuri On Ice or any of its characters. Just the OCs.**_

* * *

When Irina glided off the ice after her first practice since St. Gervais ended, she did not take her usual route to the benches. Instead, she reluctantly made a left towards the other side of the rink, where Yuri Plisetsky stood, leaning against the rink wall while playing on his phone.

The idea for the somewhat risky venture had occurred on the train ride from St. Gervais, and it had not left her alone since. So she resolved herself to go through with it. Even if the chances of it succeeding were slim. Very slim. Ridiculously-

She shook her head. No, she couldn't think of that. She just had to summon some of her optimism, and things would work out fine.

Naturally, she was a bit nervous, because her interactions with Yuri had been limited so far…

* * *

 _The rink was made of hushed whispers and excited squeals one day. Several new skaters were coming in, and one was said to have caught the eye of Yakov, one of the coaches who used the rink. The last skater said to have caught Yakov's eye had been Viktor Nikiforov, and everyone knew how that turned out. Even more amazing, the skater was said to be, at most, one year Irina's senior. Everybody was wrought with anticipation._

 _Though she had been the only one that noticed the boy who had snuck into the rink by the backdoor, his grubby hand clutching the one of an elder's._

 _The back hallway in which they had walked into was practically deserted. It held a few bathrooms and a water fountain, which Irina was standing at, filling up her water bottle._

 _The elder, a kind looking old man with a pepper and salt beard and a worn cap, gave a nod to the younger boy. "Excuse me for a moment, Yuratchka, I need to use the restroom."_

 _The boy repaid the nod, his face sullen. The elder noticed the look and squeezed his cheeks, causing the boy to look mortified, though he pinched the elder's cheeks jokingly in return. The elder let out a chuckle and disappeared into the restroom._

 _Irina stared at the boy. Did he notice her? He didn't look like it, as he was just staring off into space, shifting on his feet impatiently._

 _Slowly, she approached him._

 _"Hello." She tried to keep her tone calm and inquisitive, as the boy looked like he would scare off if she started off with her usual exclamation. "I'm Irina Lebedeva." Irina stuck out her non-water bottle holding hand. "I haven't seen you here before. Are you new?"_

 _"Yeah." The boy shook her hand after some hesitation. "I moved to train here."_

 _He had moved to train here? Was he the one everybody was talking about? Irina could only wonder._

 _"Really? I live here, just a couple kilometers away. Where did you use to live?"_

 _"Moscow," The boy answered simply._

 _"The capital? That must have been so cool!" She couldn't help the lilt of excitement that carried her voice. She had never visited Moscow, and it was a major (and supposedly cool) city. Sure, St. Petersburg was big too, but she had lived there her entire life. So she got excited._

 _"Yeah." The boy seemed to recede a bit, and his eyes darted around the room._

 _"Oh, I've lived here in St. Petersburg my whole life," she babbled, trying to get him to open up more. "It's pretty cool too. We've got lots of sights. Have you seen any of them?"_

 _"No." Apparently answering an unasked question was not the correct way to open up a startled boy._

 _"Well, um, how long have you been skating?" she burst out. "I've done two years, and before that, ballet. I still do some ballet, though."_

 _"Since I was six," The boy answered slowly._

 _"And how old are you?"_

 _"Ten."_

 _Processing the new information, she replied, "I'm nine." He was one year her senior, at the most. Perhaps he really was the new skater…_

 _"I'm back!" The elder walked back into the hallway, and he instantly looked at her. "Ah, have you made a new friend already?"_

 _Before the boy had any chance to reply, the elder had already leaned down to ruffle his hair. "I'm proud of you, Yuratchka," he said in a hushed voice, and Irina probably wasn't meant to hear it. "For making a new friend so quickly."_

 _If the boy had any protests, he did not voice them, and the elder stood up._

 _"I'm Yuri's grandfather," he greeted, sticking out his hand. Irina shook it. It was large and gloved, like a friendly old bear's. "And who might you be?"_

 _"I'm Irina Lebedeva," she first said to Yuri's grandfather, before turning to Yuri himself. "You never told me your name was Yuri!" She smiled, to show she was being playful. She did not know if he caught it._

 _"Yuri, what manners have I taught you, not telling the young lady your name?" Yuri's grandfather reprimanded him, though in a teasing manner._

 _Yuri's cheeks, which had already been a fine shade of pink from the friend comment, turned red. Then he shrugged, saying in a somewhat gruffer pitch than before, "I'm Yuri Plisetsky."_

 _"There we go. Now, tell me, Irina," Yuri's grandfather turned to her. "Will you do the honor of leading us to the rink?"_

 _Nodding, she turned around and practically skipped to the rink, her water bottle shaking and spilling. Yuri kept pace with her, while his grandfather was but a few steps behind._

 _"Yuri," she said, as the ice came into view, a chill starting to fill the air. "Who's your coach?"_

 _"Yakov." She could see Miss Krupina, glancing at her watch before looking up, confused as to why there were now two more people by Irina's side._

 _"Oh! Then you must be the new skater everyone's talking about!" she gushed, just as Yuri's grandfather gave him a pat on the shoulder, going to talk with Yakov._

 _"Really? People are talking about me?" He seemed a bit surprised, but mostly smug about the fact._

 _"Yep!" Irina was almost near the rink door, Yuri still by her side._

 _"Cool." Yuri glanced over to where his grandfather and Yakov where, and they started to wave the young boy over. "Can I ask you a question?"_

 _"What?" she responded, a bit too excitedly._

 _"Do you always talk this much?"_

* * *

 _"C'mon, Irina, you need to see this!" Anastasia tugged on her wrist and dragged her along._

 _Irina was young, around 11, and could not fathom why she was needed. "But I just got off the ice. It's my break time now," she whined. "And I was gonna get a hot pretzel! You know they always run out of those!"_

 _"Just for five seconds," Anastasia promised. She then led her to the edge of the ice, and pointed. "Look."_

 _Irina looked. "It's just Yuri. I see him every day."_

 _"No, watch his routine."_

 _She watched the young boy circle the rink slowly, and waited. She watched him perform a small jump, and waited. Then she watched him kick up his legs and- "Did you see that?" she exclaimed._

 _Anastasia nodded excitedly. "Mhmm."_

 _"That was a quad!"_

 _"Yep."_

 _"He landed a quadruple salchow!"_

 _"I know!" Anastasia bounced on her heels._

 _"He's only twelve, and he just did a quadruple salchow!"_

 _Anastasia nodded again._

 _"I don't even know if Viktor landed a quad when he was twelve!"_

 _Anastasia agreed. "Who would even know?"_

 _"Thousands of his fans, most likely," Irina answered._

 _Anastasia shrugged, but otherwise ignored the comment. "See, wasn't it worth it?"_

 _Irina nodded. She had never seen anybody so young perform such a difficult jump, and in her own rink, too!_

 _"So, do I get something in return for showing you something super awesome and amazing?" Anastasia teased and Irina rolled her eyes in playful manner._

 _Irina thought for a moment. "I have enough money for_ two _hot pretzels."_

 _"That'll do."_

* * *

 _The rink was full of festivities. Streamers were draped over the windows, balloons were tied to chairs and, if Mila had her way, to various body parts. It was their annual celebration for the Grand Prix results, and with two champions in their mix, it was extra cheery._

 _Irina was glued to a chair at a table, listening as Anastasia chattered and filled her in on all the skaters' behavior._

 _"Evita and Aimi? Total best friends. However," Anastasia hastened to assure her. "Definitely not as close as us." Anastasia had made it to the Grand Prix Finals, though no medal adorned her neck._

 _Irina nodded and let her gaze drift as Anastasia continued to ramble. Viktor was surrounded by a hoard of people, Miss Krupina was hovering nearby, chatting with other coaches, and-_

 _"Yuri?" Irina called out when she saw the skater making his way to the exit. "Are you leaving so soon?"_

 _Yuri froze, his back still to them._

 _"Yeah, great Grand Champion!" Aleksei, another student of Miss Krupina, who was sitting with them, exclaimed cheerily next. "Don't ya' want to celebrate with us?"_

 _Yuri whirled around to glare at him, and the doors swung sadly as he left._

 _Irina turned to Aleksei and swatted his arm. "Aleksei," she scolded. "I think you hurt him!"  
_

 _Aleksei blinked. "Really? I mean, I thought since he was always so…you know, he'd know it was a joke."_

 _Irina shook her head. "I guess not." It was a bit funny to realize now, that no matter how many times she had seen skaters dissolve into groups to chat, or anything really, Yuri was never a part of them._

 _Anastasia was the first to break the silence. "Anyway, did I tell you about how someone puked in the bathroom?"_

* * *

All in all, she doubted they were close enough for her to ask a favor. But, she reminded herself, it wasn't a favor. It was more of a deal.

Yuri Plisetsky, just on appearance alone, seemed to hold up his reputation of being a punk well. He was disinterestedly looking at something on his phone, while stretching his leg up, almost as though there was nothing better for him to do but be at the rink, and if there was, he would be there instead. It made sense why the press often would say that he decided to be one of the best male skaters in the world at a whim.

But on the other hand, there was also the fact that when he was practicing, he looked like a tiger hunting for his prey. And that prey was the championship. He wore his determination thick like a cloak, that he seemed to sometimes to change into at random. Maybe that's why she never seemed to understand what Yuri Plisetsky was about.

But on the other hand, for all his mysteries and his own permanent shell, he had the fiercest fanbase for a skater she had ever seen. Maybe it was because he was cute. She examined him for a second. Most definitely because he was cute. But she couldn't focus on that now. Just on her idea.

"Um, hi, Yuri!" She smiled and gave him a small wave.

Yuri looked up from his phone and mumbled something in response.

"You've begun to train with Ms. Baranovskaya, right?"

Yuri gave her a quizzical look, then nodded.

"Is she still strict?" she said, attempting to be casual.

Yuri snorted. "She's a ballerina, isn't she?" He glanced over to her and remembrance flashed through his eyes. "Um, sorry."

"Ah, no, it's okay." Irina brushed it off and tried to remember how she thought to approach the subject. "So…"

"Yeah?"

She tucked a loose strand of hair back into her bun. "Um…"

Yuri rolled his eyes and checked his phone.

She resolved to blurt it all out, like ripping off a Band-Aid, quick and fast. "IwasthinkingthatIcouldhelpyouwithherinexchangeforyouhelpingmewithmyjumps!"

Yuri stared at her, blinking slowly. There was moment of horrible silence before: "Okay."

"Huh?"

"I said okay." When she started to beam, he quickly added, "But don't make a big show out of it or anything, all right?"

"All right." And they shook on it.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note: I really love writing flashbacks from when Irina's younger. It's just so fun! And, just a reminder, if you like the story, feel free to fav, follow, or leave a review! Thanks for reading!**_


	8. Chapter 6

_**Author's Note: I'm sorry it's been so long since the last update, but life has been...lifey and I've had a lot things to deal with (including my laptop breaking, but the new one's a charm) and just...yeah. I'm sorry. Thanks for all the reviews, favs and follows. Really helped me through it all.**_

* * *

There was a comfortable chill in the air when Irina boarded the bus towards Ms. Baranovskaya's house. But, now, as she was let out at her stop, the breeze suddenly seemed biting. Irina wrote it off as nerves.

Ms. Baranovskaya's neighborhood was ritzy, with perfectly primed trees and bushes, clean roofs and immaculate lawns. Every house was perfect, no slants or visible wear. But Ms. Baranovskaya's was the most elegant of all.

It had to be at least three stories of solid white plaster and wood, and several turrets spouted up from it. Large widows peeked out from view, but the glass was hazy, no doubt blocked because of the paparazzi. It was all topped off with pristine black shingles covering the roof. Definitely Victorian. Definitely grandiose. Definitely Ms. Baranovskaya's.

Irina's own humble little flat paled in comparison to the grand house. But it made sense, after all, Ms. Baranovskaya was the former prima ballerina of the Russian ballet, something she liked to remind everyone of, whether indirectly or directly.

She stepped up to the porch and took a second to make sure her appearance was okay. Other than the smear of blue on her palm (she had written down the address on the palm of her hand before remembering she could put it on her phone), she was alright. She adjusted her bag one more time before she rang the bell.

"Hey." Yuri swung the door open suddenly and she startled back slightly. "You're on time."

"Um, yes?"

"Sorry, just didn't expect it." He turned around and walked a couple feet into the house. "Follow me, okay?"

Irina nodded and cautiously stepped into the house of her former teacher. The hallway they were in was a sterile white, the tile floors had been scrubbed fervently and shined, and overall had little bearings. It was like walking into an office building.

Her shoes made a soft tap-tap as she followed Yuri, somewhat eagerly peering around the house. Ms. Baranovskaya let little of her personal life be known to her students. Irina hadn't even known she'd had a divorce, much less been married, until her parents asked her if Ms. Baranovskaya had been acting different because of it.

A small table leaned against a wall caught her attention, mostly because it was the only thing one could even consider messy. It held framed newspaper articles, certificates and pictures, all about Ms. Baranovskaya's career as a prima ballerina. There was nothing personal on the table, though slight gaps in the usual pattern of photos and awards suggested some photos of Yakov might have been there, now long removed.

"That's Ms. Baranovskaya's 'achievement' table." Irina jumped slightly. She hadn't even known Yuri was next to her. "It's impressive, I'll give her that." He pointed to a trophy of a golden ballerina. "Prix Benois de la Danse, lifelong achievement in ballet."

She nodded, letting her eyes trail around the table, before she gasped, and made a grab for the back of the table.

"What?" Yuri looked up from another trophy he had been fingering.

"Sorry, I just never realized she kept photos of her students." Irina carefully picked up a picture frame, making sure not to damage it. "Here's me, in my first year with her." The photo showed her with the rest of the class, each child lined up in the practice room and smiling. Ms. Baranovskaya, on the other hand, was straight-faced as always.

"How old were you?" Yuri edged closer, looking interested in the photo as well.

"Five."

"You looked a bit like when I first met you," he commented. "But shorter, and with less teeth."

"Yeah," Irina murmured, looking to see if she could spot Alina.

Yuri inched closer, and asked, "What are you looking for?"

"My friend, Alina, she took the class with me-" Irina started to explain, before their shoulders bumped together, shocking them both.

"I'm sorry, Yuri," Irina said, moving to the left. "I should have been more aware-"

"Never mind," Yuri said. "Let's get going."

Yuri walked quickly in front of her, and Irina put the photo back in place, going after him. Finally, he reached a solid black door and opened it. "Here's where we'll be practicing."

"Wow." Irina dropped her bag on the floor and looked around in awe. "I always knew Ms. Baranovskaya loved ballet, but this is another level."

The room looked exactly like a ballet studio, with wood flooring, colorless walls, and even a barre running across a wall made entirely out of mirrors. A gleaming black piano in the corner completed the picture.

"Yeah." Yuri twisted the tip of his shoe across the floor, but didn't make a mark on its pristine state. "I think she had this built in, like, the 90s or something, when everybody was making these weird-ass home renovations."

"It's actually really cool," Irina said, and ran her hand across the barre. It was smooth, unrealistically so, and Irina wondered how often this room was actually used. "I mean, if you could, wouldn't you want an ice rink in your house?"

"Won't need to," Yuri said. "By the time I hit 25, people will be _dedicating_ ice rinks to me."

"Hmm," Irina said. That was very much the Yuri she knew. "Let's start." She made a move to the center of the room, and attempted to look as professional as possible. "What moves have been troubling you?"

Yuri followed, with what looked like to be an attempt at a long-legged stride. But since he wasn't very long-legged, at least, not height-wise, it looked a little…silly. "Nothing's been troubling me, really, I just need to know how to do it Baranovskaya style."

"Okay," Irina said, not believing him all that much.

"It's true!" he insisted. "She's very particular."

"I know," said Irina. "I studied with her for years." Then, she said, "If nothing's been troubling you, then let's go through everything."

Yuri groaned, but complied.

* * *

After watching Yuri run through some of the moves Ms. Baranovskaya had showed him so far, Irina decided he wasn't bad. Far from it, actually. But he was right, he wasn't up to Baranovskaya standards.

"You should make sure your toes are pointed," Irina eventually said. "Ms. Baranovskaya is very harsh about that. And make sure your arms are strong. Ms. Baranovskaya thinks that the entire body should look like it's doing the move, not just the legs."

Yuri nodded and went to a normal standing position. "So, we done here?"

Irina felt her shoulders relax. "Yeah."

"We can meet here again, next week, for our next practice. When do you want to meet for your jump practice?" said Yuri.

"Oh, I don't know." Irina sighed, and swung her bag over her shoulder. In actuality, she did know, having looked over her skating schedule and pulled up what she knew of Yuri's from the remnants of her mind to find what would work. However, she didn't want to appear…eager. "The rink, tomorrow?"

"Sure," Yuri shrugged.

Inwardly, Irina cheered.

* * *

On the bus home, Irina stared out the window at the changing leaves. It'd soon get even colder.

Was this really a good idea? They weren't competition, never would be, so there was no reason Yuri wouldn't want one from his own country, own rink, even, to win. But...her stomach felt funny when they were near, and she took that as a sign of apprehension. That couldn't be _good_.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a small vibration in her pocket, and pulled her phone out. Anastasia was calling. Sighing, she quickly denied and opened up the text app. She couldn't answer the phone on public transit, after all. It was rude. Besides, Anastasia tended to blurt stuff out that she didn't want the old lady next to her to find out.

Irina cringed when she was met with deluge of missed texts. _Good job on ignoring your best friend, Lebedeva._

 **ANA_O.** You up?

 **ANA_O.** Irina, you awake?

 **ANA_O.** Helllooooooo?

Quickly, she shot out a reply.

 **IRI_L .** I'm here.

 **IRI_L.** Sorry, I was busy. Aren't you in practice?

 **ANA_O.** Snack break

 **ANA_O.** Petrov said he was tired and needed one.

 **ANA_O**. (I think he just went out drinking with his boyfriend again. It was his birthday last night)

 **IRI_L.** You really shouldn't be so nosy about his personal life.

 **IRI_L.** It's rude.

 **ANA_O.** It's not nosy if I just happen to overhear the info.

 **IRI_L.** No

 **ANA_O.** You hurt me so.

 **ANA_O.** Anyways…

 **ANA_O.** I found out who I'll be facing in Czech Skate.

Irina's eyes widened. This was new.

 **IRI_L.** ?

 **IRI_L.** Before me?

 **ANA_O.** Better make sure your subscriptions are up to check, SKATER-QUEEN-188.

 **IRI_L.** It's just a username! You have to make one to be a reader of Online Skating News Weekly!

 **ANA_O.** Lol, ok.

 **ANA_O.** You didn't ask me who yet.

 **IRI_L.** Who?

 **ANA_O.** Laurel Summers.

Irina stared at the name blankly. Who was that? Quickly, she pulled up the search app.

 **ANA_O.** You haven't responded yet.

 **ANA_O.** OMG

 **ANA_O.** You forgot, didn't you.

 **ANA_O.** You're probably looking her up right now.

 **ANA_O.** Now who's nosy?

 **IRI_L.** Still you.

 **ANA_O.** Bleh

 **ANA_O.** Anyway, Laurel won the Juniors Grand Prix last year, remember?

 **IRI_L.** Oh my God.

 **IRI_L.** I can't believe I forgot.

 **ANA_O.** Haha, yeah, you suck.

 **IRI_L.** Shut up.

 **ANA_O.** That is, as you know, an impossible wish, but it will be granted briefly.

 **IRI_L.** ?

 **ANA_O.** My break ended.

 **IRI_L.** Oh.

 **ANA_O.** See ya later.

Irina stared at the messages. Yuri was now the farthest thing form her mind. (Maybe. Sort of. She wished). Thanks to Anastasia, she now had an entirely new thing to worry about. Laurel Summers.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note: Sorry about the sucky text-messaging format. I thought I had it pretty decent before the site decided to mess it up. But, anyway, HAPPY NEW YEARS!**_


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